


Disarm

by subtextham



Category: Tender Green - Takarazuka Revue
Genre: Other, References to Takarazuka Kagekidan, Tender Green, porn with little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtextham/pseuds/subtextham
Summary: I press him inside, into the private dark, and lift him off his feet with ease.





	

**Author's Note:**

> PRONOUNS: decided to go with masc pronouns but, as these male characters are played by big sexy DFABs I (vaguely) describe them as such.
> 
> I managed to get my eyes on an '85 Takarazuka play called Tender Green and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. As is the norm when I watch a zuka play, I only came away with a very rudimentary understanding of everything, but suffice to say I loved what I understood of it. Scifi and tree-hugging are both near and dear to my heart. This is mainly PWP but, a little plot is here. Would fit in maybe during the first act of the play. 
> 
> In the recording I watched Son Drake, the narrator in this fic, was played by Takashio Tomoe and Kyte by the formidable Ooura Mizuki. There was also an SK version with Maya Miki and Yuuma Natsuki in those roles, respectively, though I'm not sure there's a recording of it.

Kyte and I stand in a long hut with elaborate pictures on half the walls. I look at them while he explains again that I’m welcome to stay. He trusts his sister Mey’s judgement that I am more than good at heart and the others agree. They were just discussing it while holding a meeting here, sitting cozily on long sofas on either side of the narrow room. Nothing bisects the length of the room, not even a table. This is how they speak to each other, these strange and wonderful people. As twilight fell the meeting was adjourned and they all filed out to light lanterns and to make the evening meal. Kyte caught me sitting on the mossy stones just outside, where I had been listening to the murmuring of their voices for over an hour.

He asks me something about Dome. I am silent because still I look at the walls. The pictures are made from shapes and the shapes are made from threads of different colors woven together. They hardly resemble anything like what the eye sees; finally it occurs to me that they are deliberate abstractions. This is where these people channel their need to create and control. The absolute lines of the shapes are at tender odds with the myriad ways of being and knowing that the forest people acknowledge from all the teeming life of the woods and streams and meadows. I feel overwhelmed by love for all of this collectively, and I finally must funnel some of it out, somewhere.

I turn to Kyte, who has come to stand quite close to me, and I run my hand through his downy reddish hair. I intend this to be seen as casual, just another meaningless touch among people so very fond of touching. But his big, soft eyes find mine in the half-light and he looks so surprised that I know I’m caught. My small gesture of love shows us both that a need burns inside me. His expression is wide open...and eager. Shock is tempered by expectation. So I let my open palm lay on the back of his neck, echoing how his guiding hands on my shoulders and upper back felt to me. A need evidently lives within him too.

In the moment before I act again I negotiate with us both in my imagination. The fact that he is ever so slightly taller than me has thrown me for a loop since we first met. This revelation gives me inspiration for what to do next: I put my hands on his shoulders and back him across the room, then push him down to sit on a sofa. He’s easy to move both because I’m so much stronger than him but also because he offers no resistance. Then I’m not sure what to do. My hands are still on his shoulders; his long face is tilted up quite a bit so he can look into mine. I find it better to look over every inch of him.

Then he reaches up and puts gentle hands on my wrists and begins to rub. His hands travel up my arms, rubbing methodically. I can feel in his touch that his fingers are seeking to know me--at any rate, the intensity of the situation increases tenfold for me. I close my eyes to better feel his touch, which before I know it is traveling to my chest and abdomen. My new clothes, which so confound me, fall away under his long hands. I don’t quite understand his aim until he strips off his own jacket, shirt, and binding and pulls me down beside him to press our bare chests together. I’m lost in the sensation. He pulls one of my legs up--this time it’s me who offers no resistance--so he can rub and thrust between them with his hand and hips. Meanwhile wet kisses descend upon my neck. I don’t realize I’m crying out--don’t recognize my own voice--until he’s shushing me, his cheek against mine.

When I’m quiet again he undoes my pants and tugs them off of my waist and over my bottom, so that I’m exposed but my bent legs and the crotch of my pants are between his body and mine. He wraps an arm around my knees and dips his face down to my chest, where he kisses and bites and licks. With his fingers, slim and strong, he touches between my legs in the most wonderful way. I stroke his hair again and then his smooth back with one hand; the other I keep against my mouth to hold back the sounds that want to escape. I feel like there’s a coil in my belly, building pressure. I know I’m waiting for something to happen.

All on its own my body becomes frantic, rhythmic. Then it’s like a wave crashes through me. My hand shoots down between us and I firmly hold his hand still against me while the aftershocks ride out from their origin between my thighs. I have to remember how to breathe, and breathe deeply. I move his hand away from me and feel that it’s slick and wet, slick and wet from me.

He makes some show of self-restraint: first wiping between my legs with his undershirt, then dressing me back up as neatly as possible. Underneath my clothes I feel liable to unwind, collapse, but my strength comes back as I watch him dress himself with less care. He stands, kisses my forehead and leaves me alone in the darkened room.

But I remember the way to his shelter and I follow him there shortly thereafter. When he comes to the door he’s half undressed and smelling of sex already. I press him inside, into the private dark, and lift him off his feet with ease. I kiss and bite his neck like he did mine. He leans into me, whimpering. I touch as much of him as I can. I carry him to his bed. I slide off his few clothes and ask him to undress me again.

He shows me how to fuck him and I watch how his pleasure anguishes him. Kneeling over me, he comes down on my fingers again and again and again. His brow creased, his eyes shut tight. Both his hands hold my forearm, then one finds my bare hip and holds that instead. He throws his head back when that same wave crashes through him. I watch the muscles in his neck and shoulders and belly flex and I feel how the flesh inside of him changes around my fingers.

He takes my hand and draws my fingers out of him. Then he slumps onto the soft bed beside me. I can’t seem to look away from the long lashes pressed against the tops of his cheeks. Everywhere our skin touches there is a sweet buzz. This makes me dizzy and disarmed.

When I notice my vulnerable state I am struck with a fear so intense it’s as if a strong grip has closed around my throat. His eyes flutter open; he finally sees me again beside him and tries to kiss me but I flinch away with such force that I fall off the bed. Without intending to I roll and crawl across the floor to the wall, press tightly against it. He leaps off the bed after me, lays a warm hand on my shoulder and cries out, “It’s alright!

“It’s alright, now.” I feel the wood under my fingers. Hairs rise on my arms and legs because of the breeze from the window. It carries the scents of the forest. There is no ringing of heavy boots on metal floors, only the singing of small nighttime creatures. No one is coming.


End file.
